


Crowley's Angels/Bonnie & Clyde

by MamaWantsDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Charlie's Angels - Freeform, Crime/Criminal Duo, F/F, Gen, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, first multichapter, human!Cas, human!Gabe, multi-chapter, my second fic, smut warning, special agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaWantsDestiel/pseuds/MamaWantsDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped young, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are raised to be the perfect crime duo.<br/>In the present, Sam Winchester and Gabriel Novak are working for Crowley, a private super-detective with connections to the FBI and CIA. The boys fight for justice in their working hours, and spend all their spare time searching for their brothers, lost to them with no trace left behind 20 years ago.<br/>Warning: unbeta'd.<br/>Warning: smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught on Camera

**Author's Note:**

> This will be multi-chapter. Minor Destiel, eventual smut (maybe, i have never wrote smut before). We may see some Sabriel, the story hasn't decided where to go on that regard as of yet.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters do not belong to me. This AU, however, does :)
> 
> This storyline came to me in a dream, and has progressed on its own.
> 
> The first 2 chapters move quickly, due to mostly action and dialogue sequences. Following chapters are far more descriptive in nature and I hope you enjoy the story.  
> (I am a very visual person. Once I get an image in my mind of a place, I describe it as fully as possible. If this offends you, well, I just don't know what to say about that)  
> Please feel free to leave comments regarding grammar, spelling, or story structure. I wouldn't mind knowing if people like this story :)  
> I am my own editor and any feedback is appreciated :)  
> Thank you for the Kudos! My heart is all a-flutter LOL

Las Vegas, Nevada

“Hello, Boys”  
“Good Morning Crowley” said Sam and Gabriel in unison, sitting on the black leather chairs in the office, facing the video phone on the desk in front of them.

Crowley, an older heavy set gentleman with thinning brown hair, begins.

  
“I have a new assignment for you. It is a string of robberies across the country over the last 6 months. The FBI has been all over the case but has no leads. The pair of suspects leave no DNA, no fingerprints, no security footage, and witnesses claim it never happened. However, the banks hit are mysteriously missing hundreds of thousands of dollars out of their vaults, with no recollection as to how it happened. I believe the suspects are using spells to wipe memories of victims and witnesses.”  
“Wait,” asked Sam, “you said ‘pair of suspects’. If there are no witnesses, DNA, or security, how do we know it’s two people?”  
“Very good, Moose. There is no security footage... **from the banks**. We managed to snag footage from a parking garage located across the street from the First National Bank of Kansas, in Lawrence. I have taken the liberty of editing out unneeded footage. I’m patching the videos to your screen now.”  
‘Lawrence? No, it couldn’t be…’ Sam and Gabriel looked at each other in silent communication, and turned around in their chairs to watch the giant movie screen behind them, computer screens turning on through the glass coffee table.

  
_The parking garage is crowded with vehicles, nothing out of the ordinary. The video switches to another camera, showing a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulling into the garage. It makes its way to a spot on the main floor, directly across from the bank. In a small corner of the video is a faint glow._

 

“Wait, Gabe, zoom in on that corner, the bottom right,” says Sam. “Yes, that’s good. What is that?”  
“Looks like a laptop. What are they doing?” wonders Gabriel.  
The boys hit play, and watch as the laptop quickly moves screens, information moving past the screen in the blink of an eye.  
“Wow. They’re hacking into the bank’s security. They’re sending the cameras into loops and changing the alarm codes,” says Sam, “that’s some high-level skill. Okay, let’s rewind and zoom out.”

 

_The video plays, focused on the car. The driver exits the car, a tall man, wearing a green jacket, plaid shirt underneath, jeans, and hiking boots. He moves to the trunk of the vehicle, opens it, and begins digging through massive amounts of weapons. The video switches to another camera, showing us the contents of the trunk: handguns, shotguns, a grenade launcher, knives, masks, and gloves. The masks look like various Presidents and celebrities. The gloves are all the same, boxes of latex gloves, size Large, and stacks of black dollar-store cotton._

“We need that car” says Sam.

 

_The video switches again, showing the sidewalk and front of the bank. The view shows a blurry interior of the bank, showing three people in line, and one teller on shift. The Impala, in this view, is now at the bottom edge of the camera, showing the windshield and hood. The video returns to the first view. In the corner, the light blinks off, and the passenger exits the car. He is wearing a white shirt, black slacks, and a blue tie. On top, he wears a tan trench coat. He bends over, pulls up the carpet, uses his hand to find something in the foot well of the car. The Impala hides a pocket where the passenger lays his feet, and the trench-coated man hides the laptop in it. He snaps it closed, replaces the carpet, stands, and makes his way to the driver, closing the car door behind him._

“OH! A hidey-hole! I wonder how many more there are!” claims Gabriel.

 

_The view changes again, back to the trunk. The man in the trench coat reaches into the trunk, pulling a previously-unseen brown leather pouch from the side pouch in the trunk, opens it, and checks its contents. He mouths something to the driver, frowning, and attaches the small pouch to his black leather belt. The driver mouths something in response, smiles, and hands him a handgun. The man in the green pulls a large backpack, empty, out of the trunk and puts it on his back. The men, after having loaded themselves with weapons, reach into the trunk again, for a pair of latex gloves each, and pair of black cotton gloves, and choose their masks. They smile to each other, and the man in the green jacket puts his hand on the jawline of the other._

Gabriel pauses the video, zooms the camera in, and the two Special Agents get a good look at the suspects. The one in the green jacket has short, spiky dirty blond hair, and sparkling green eyes. His face is slightly on the square side, freckles by the dozens scattering across his nose and cheekbones. Sam has a moment of wonder, something about his eyes strike him as familiar. He shakes off the feeling and takes stock of the other man in view.

He has black, slightly longer hair, sticking up in ways that makes Sam think he hasn’t seen a comb in a week. His eyes are ocean blue, small, soft pouty lips, and a cleft in his chin. Sam hears a small choked gasp from Gabriel, and turns to him.  
“Are you okay? Do you know him?” he asks.  
“No. no, just, uh, a sense of, uh… familiarity?” Gabe responds, unsure.  
‘I know how that feels’ Sam thinks to himself. “Okay let’s take a freeze frame of the suspects; we can go over it again later.” They zoom out, play, and continue watching.

 

_The blond moves his thumb from the brunette’s jaw to the cleft in his chin, pulls him closer, smiles, says words unheard to the camera, and gives him a gentle kiss to the lips. The brunette smiles in response. The view changes again to the front of the car, and the two men make their way across the street, not moving quickly, bringing themselves no attention. Once at the front entrance, they pause, nod, and pull the masks over their faces. The brunette is wearing Lyndsay Lohan’s face, the blond pulls his mask over his own face, wearing Keanu Reeves. They enter the bank, the man wearing Lyndsay Lohan pulls some powder out of the brown leather pouch, and blows it across the air conditioner machine. The other man then raises his shotgun in the air, and a man wearing a suit, the bank manager, escorts Keanu into the back, while Lyndsay closes the blinds on the windows, effectively cutting off view from the camera. Within 90 seconds, the two men exit the building, backpack on Keanu’s back, evidently heavy. The door is still open, and Lyndsay blows another handful of the yellow powder into the bank. They rip off the masks, stuff them in the backpack, and calmly cross the street. The view changes again, showing the two men arriving at the parked Impala. They enter the vehicle, backpack thrown into the backseat, turn the engine, and reverse the car. The view changes to the parking lot entrance/exit, the License plate visible._

Gabe again pauses and zooms in. He takes a freeze frame of the license plate, Ohio, CNK 80Q3. “Well,” he says, “we have a place to start.”  
“Crowley?” asks Sam. “Do we have any other video from after this? Which direction did they go? When did this robbery happen?”  
“The robbery took place at 11 am yesterday…” Crowley starts. ‘Less than 24 hours ago’ Sam thinks. “We haven’t been able to determine which direction they went after a camera caught the vehicle on the highway turnoff.”  
“Okay. Gabe, let’s get on it.”


	2. Just Another Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel's POV, a full day before Sam and Gabriel watch the events unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes my very first attempt at smut. Fair warning if it sucks balls.
> 
> Supernatural and its characters do not belong to me.  
> This AU, however, does :)

24 hours earlier, Wichita, Kansas:

 

“Madam.”

“Hello, my pets,” Abaddon says through the speaker of Dean’s cell phone. “Today’s job, the First National Bank of Kansas, in Lawrence. Get the money, get out. Usual drill. You have until noon to finish the job and hightail it here. I won’t give you the usual threat of torturing you if you are caught. I know my little **_darlings_** are too good for that,” she says, smirking over the phone. “Call me when you hit Vegas. I expect you to be here by noon tomorrow. I will allow you a sleepover in Colorado. See you later, boys! Don’t disappoint.”

Dean and Castiel hear the beep of the call ending.

They stand up from the motel room table.

“Well, _Bonnie_ , I guess we know where we are headed.” Dean says.

“Well, _Clyde_ , if we are heading to Lawrence, we better go. It’s just over 2 hours there from here. I’d like to hit the place before noon, maybe get us an extra hour of sleep in Colorado,” replies Castiel, as he heads for the shower.

Dean starts packing their clothes and guns in the duffle bags. After he leaves the clothes that Cas picked out, he heads toward the bathroom, stripping his clothes and dumping them on the floor.

Hearing the door open, Cas peeks his shampoo covered head out of the shower curtain. Dean, already nude, climbs into the shower behind Cas.

“Joining me for a shower, babe?” Cas asks, shyly.

“Figure I need to get clean after I get you dirty…” Dean replies, grabbing his wet arm and pulling him closer to him.

Cas’ blue eyes stare at Dean, pupils blowing wide, face flushes pink. “Babe, we don’t have time, we need to head out-” he replies, voice lowering in his growing lust. Dean closes the distance between them with his lips, effectively shutting Castiel up, moving his tongue inside Cas' open mouth, rough and claiming.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says when he pulls back for a breath, “I’ll make sure it’s quick.” He smirks, bringing his mouth to Cas’ neck, licking and sucking gently, lowering his hand down his chest, tweaking Cas’ nipples. “I’ll take care of you. I got you sweetheart.”

Cas moans as Dean lowers his head, following his hands down, down Castiel’s body, placing butterfly kisses everywhere he touches. Dean slowly lowers himself to his knees as he reaches Cas’ chest when his hands lower themselves to the V of Cas’ pubic bone.

“Dean.” He groans.

Dean’s hands reach around to grabs and massage Cas’ ass when his mouth reaches his hips. Placing open kisses, licks of his tongue on Cas’ hipbones, he licks a stripe down to his inner thighs, and back up to Castiel’s shaved balls. Taking one in his mouth, Cas groans again, “DEAN!”

Dean smiles, licks his way to the other side, and puts the other testicle into his mouth.

“Oh my God, Dean –“ he gasps, “we don’t have time-“, Dean’s right hand shoots up Cas’ back and to his mouth, covering it with his hand.

“Shush, sweetheart, let go. I got you” he responds, moving his hand back to Cas’ ass, placing a kiss on the tip of Cas’ now rock hard cock. Dean slips a finger of his left hand into the crack of Cas’ ass, putting gentle pressure on the hole and massages the hot muscle. Castiel moans through a large gasp and the pleasure shooting through his body, landing straight to his balls. Dean groans, and tongues the tiny slit at the tip of Cas's cock open, tasting the precum beading there.

“MERDE ALORS!” Castiel yells.

Dean groans, licks the tip as he licks his lips, and opens his mouth, downing Cas into his mouth to the gag reflex.

“Mon Dieu! Oui! Donnez-moi davantage!”

Dean moves his tongue down the shaft, sucks in his cheeks and relaxes his throat. He moves his head up and down, drawing Cas deep into his throat, groans, saliva leaking out the corners of his mouth as he goes, holding Cas firmly in place with his hands.

Castiel grabs his short spiky hair with both hands, head tipped back under the shower, washing the shampoo out of his hair. "Dean! Dean! Dean! Dean!" he chants, voice lowering as he inhales like a man drowning.

Dean pops off Cas’ glistening cock, moves his right hand off Cas’ ass and places it on his own stiff dick. “Come on, babe, cum for me,” he begs, putting the cock back into his mouth, tasting the precum leaking off the tip. He leaves his mouth open, using his tongue to swirl around the shaft and up to the head, licking up and back down.

His hand moves at a swift pace on his own cock. Feeling the pressure build up in his core, his balls tightening, he squeezes the base of his own dick, and wraps his mouth around Cas’ cock, sucking and moving with increased speed and need.

“Jésus baiser sainte mere DEAN!!!!” Castiel screams as he cums, Dean swallows it all down. Tasting the sweet salty liquid hits the back of his throat, Dean cums into his own hand, groaning around the pulsing cock in his mouth.

Releasing his mouth and catching his breath, Dean says “Holy fuck Cas, I love it when you go French on me.”

Cas’ legs give out, and Dean catches him as he falls to the bottom of the shower.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asks, grinning.

“Just, uh, gimme a minute…”

*************

Dean and Cas leave the shower, clean, dressed, and sated. They grab the duffle bags; give the room one more, quick glance to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind, and leave the room.

They throw the duffle bags into the trunk of the car, and climb in.

“Okay, _Bonnie_ , time to GPS our route. Which way am I headed?” asks Dean.

Castiel grabs his laptop, turns it on, and pulls up the program. “Okay, we are headed 2 hours that way,” he says, pointing to his right, “follow the highway straight out. It’s only 8 am now, I’d like to hit up some breakfast on our way, if that’s alright.”

“Sure, babe, we got a diner on the way?”

“Yup, about 30 minutes out, on the highway.”

“Great. I’m starving,” Dean smiles, turning up the volume on _Stairway to Heaven_.

*************

Lawrence, Kansas, 10:45 am.

Dean and Castiel are driving around downtown Lawrence, scoping their entry and exit.

“There’s a parking garage across from the bank,” Cas says, looking at Google Maps on his laptop. “It will provide shelter and a quick exit. According to the view on Google Streetview, there are no cameras in or outside the garage. Looks like they rely on the ones from the bank, but those aren’t focused on the garage.  Makes my job easier to not worry about more security to disable,” he muses.

“Awesome. Gotta love cheap building owners, not worrying about the safety and security of their patrons,” he grins.

The ramp into the garage puts them on the second floor. They circle down to the main level and park, facing the bank.

“Okay babe, do your thing.”

“I’m on it,” replies Cas.

After a moment, Dean exits the Impala and heads to the trunk, taking a quick survey of available supplies. He chooses the semi-automatic Remington 1100 shotgun for himself, and loads it. He then grabs Castiel’s favourite gun, the Smith & Wesson 1911 Anniversary Special. He makes sure the gun is loaded, and is digging through the trunk for the chosen mask of the day when Cas joins him at the trunk. “Did you get the laptop put away?” asks Dean.

“Of course I did. I put it in its usual spot.” Cas reaches to the hidden side pouch in the trunk, grabs his powder bag, and checks it.

“We’re going to need more of the amnesia powder” says Castiel, attaching the now closed bag to his belt.

 “Don’t worry babe, as soon as this job is over, we’ll head back to Abaddon and restock” says Dean, smiling. He then hands Castiel his gun, which is promptly placed in the back of his slacks.

Dean reaches into the truck, and grabs his black nylon backpack.  Castiel grabs the Winchester rifle, and lays it on the inside hook of his trench coat, barrel pointed to the ground. Dean is finished loading guns into his green jacket.

The two men go into the trunk for a pair of latex gloves each, and then grab a pair of black cotton gloves to put on top. Castiel, wearing the gloves, sneaks a smoke bomb into his trench. After some more digging, Castiel chooses the Lyndsay Lohan mask, and Dean chooses Keanu Reeves.

They smile at each other, love shining through their eyes, when Dean palms Castiel’s jawline. He moves his thumb to the cleft of his chin, pulls him closer, smiles, and says “I love you, my Angel. Let’s do this and get out of here.” He kisses him gently on the lips. Cas wears a small sweet smile as he puts on the mask, Dean follows suit, and they head across the street.

They stand at the entrance, nod, and open the door. Cas waits just inside the door, opens his pouch, and pulls out a handful of the yellow powder. He blows it into the air conditioner, waiting for the powder’s effects to spread across the room.

“Everybody DOWN! No one will get hurt! YOU-“ Dean yells to a man in a suit, “get the vault open, get the cash in my bag. No arguing, no one gets hurt. UNDERSTAND?”

Castiel has closed the blinds in the front windows and waits at the front door, locking it and keeping his handgun pointed to the three customers on the floor.

“Miss? Would you be so kind as to come out front with the customers please? I’d rather you weren’t behind the counter, trying to warn anyone of our presence,” Castiel asks the teller, as she moves around to the front, “Thank you miss. You are very helpful today. I think you deserve a letter of praise from your customers” he says, smiling at her.

The man in the black suit stares blankly at Dean and nods, leading him to the vault. Arriving, the bank manager opens the vault and begins loading his backpack with bundles of cash, leaving out the dye pack at Dean’s insistence.

Dean emerges from the vault with the bank manager, nods at Castiel, and walks to the front door.

They open the door; Castiel reaches into his leather pouch, and grabs another handful of the yellow amnesia powder. He blows it into the air conditioner again, ensuring the events taken place in the two minutes since they arrived won’t be remembered.

They close the door, remove the masks and place them into the backpack. They make the slow nonchalant walk back across the street to the Impala.

“Well, another day done. Let’s grab some lunch. I’m starving,” says Dean, as he tosses the backpack into the backseat.

The doors slam, and Castiel looks at him. “Yes, we need to stop. I need to wash my hands of the powder and change my clothes.”

Dean reverses the car out of the garage, out the exit, and onto the main street.

Neither man noticed the newly-installed cameras in the parking garage, blinking red and catching it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations:
> 
> *HOLY SHIT  
> *Oh God! Yes! Give me more!  
> *Jesus fuck holy mother DEAN!!!!
> 
> A/N I am working on Chapter 3 now, and will be posting it tomorrow, if not later today. It'll be big :)


	3. The Day the Music Died, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to that fateful summer night, when Dean was just 16.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter, just laying the foundations....
> 
> Supernatural and its characters do not belong to me.  
> This AU, however, does :)

August 4, 1995

 

A white house sits at the end of the street. It is a two-story home, with blue-painted shutters surrounding every one of its 5 windows. The house itself sits on a postage-stamp lawn, a pine tree on the left side of the yard stands twenty feet tall, walkway stretching from the sidewalk up the middle of the yard to the front steps of the house. There is no fence, no bushes, and no flowers, but the grass is green and lush.

The three windows on the top floor lead into the bedrooms of the Winchester family, Dean, in the top left corner, Sam, in the middle, and John, at the far right corner. Under John’s bedroom window is a plain double bed, brown comforter on top, two pillows without pillowcases. His bed has remained empty these last almost-twelve years, since the loss of Mary, the light of his life.  Next to his bed is a closet, open, clothes neatly hung inside, boxes arranged haphazardly on the top shelf and on the floor. Across from the bed is his dresser is nothing special. Twenty years old, chipped, cracked, six drawers lying three by three across. He has a 13” television on top, VCR next to it. He doesn’t have cable in his room, it is a pointless expense. On a mechanic’s salary, his money is better used to ensure his boys have clothes and food for school. Dean is almost old enough to help at Bobby’s garage full time. John is adamant he graduates high school first. John’s room sits across the hall from the top of the stairs, as he wants to protect his boys from any possible harm. Mary’s death has had a profound effect on him, turning John into an overprotective parent. As a result of his choice in sleeping arrangements, Dean has landed the Master bedroom of the house they moved into, and eventually bought, after the fire.

Sam’s room is painted green with yellow stripes, the design he picked after he started delivering flyers and earning his own money. His dad gave him permission to do whatever he wanted with his money over the summer, and eventually gave permission for painting the walls. Sam doesn’t need to work hard to get what he wants, but knowing the family financial situation, he never asks for much, and would never dream of asking for anything the family can’t afford or isn’t necessary. Under his window is his dresser, also painted yellow. It is a tall standing piece of furniture he got when he was six, after Dean so helpfully pointed out his baby dresser was no longer good enough to hold all his quickly-growing-out-of clothes. John was happy to eat the expense, but was happier when he found the item in the bargain finder for twenty dollars. Across from his dresser, next to his bedroom door, is his closet, open like his father’s and brother’s closets. Dad doesn’t believe in closed doors, unless it is strictly for privacy. On the right side of the closet door is his desk. His father and Uncle Bobby built it for him, like they did Dean’s desk, And, like Dean’s desk, it was a gift for successfully passing the fifth grade and moving into middle school. It is a simple design, nothing more than a stable top and one drawer for his pens and papers. Sammy also painted his desk, yellow top and green drawer and legs. Next to his dresser is his bed, a single, with green bedding and one pillow, wrapped in a pillowcase of a darker shade of green. Sam thinks his room is a refuge, the perfect combination of sunny and grassy, and he feels surrounded by nature in his own room. It calms him. This is where we currently find twelve-year-old Sammy, light brown hair just this side of too long, almost bowl-like in its most recent trim. His light brown eyes are currently completely focused on his book, _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe,_ while he lays on his bed, in his pajamas, bedroom lamp on top of his dresser turned on, waiting for his big brother to come home. It will be soon, Dad gave him a curfew that ends in another hour.

Dean’s room, painted ocean blue, sits at the other end of the hallway, across the hall from the oversize full bathroom. Under Deans’ window is his desk and chair, unpainted but wood stained, his schoolwork scattered across the top in true Dean style. Dean’s bed, a single with navy blue bedding and a plain white pillowcase, lays unmade next to the desk, against the wall he shared with Sam. On the opposite wall is his dresser, a tall one with five drawers-just like Sam’s-is plain white, with blue handles. His closet is at the foot of the bed, door open, revealing clean and dirty clothes mixed together on the closet floor, a few plaid button ups and dress shirts still hanging clean. Dean is the messiest of the family of three, with socks and underwear laying on the floor mixed with jeans and some t-shirts in varying colours, some school work, his coveralls from Uncle Bobby’s garage – where he works on weekends to help his Dad with extra expenses – and his steel-toed work boots Uncle Bobby bought him. Dean, however, is not currently in his very messy room.

The oversize bathroom was an unnecessary convenience for the Winchesters. The previous owner of the white bungalow decided that with three teenage daughters, a small bathroom was an issue. He had expanded the bathroom through the large linen closet in the hallway next to it, had the plumbing rearranged so the double sink and large mirror with its vanity lights were moved three feet back from their original spot. The toilet, white, sits next to it, lid always down now, for Dean and Sam’s friends, Jo, Charlie, Anna, and anyone else who popped over for a visit. Cas and Gabe ignored the inconvenience of having to lift the lid, as they had to do the same at home for their mother and Anna. The girls, when they visited, really appreciated the gesture. John taught the boys to always act like a female lived in the house. This was a home, not a bachelor pad. John himself had not had female company to the house in over two years.  The large bathtub/shower combination was set to the other side of the toilet, massaging showerhead and gleaming white tiles showing real care. The blue shower curtain was waterproof, hung on the inside of the rail. The outer curtain was clear with yellow rubber ducks, always open, but pattern visible. The bathroom, while not John’s idea, was John’s pride. It was the one room in the house in which he splurged, ensured his boys had a working toilet, space on the countertop for their personals, shavings always cleared out of the sink, and a showerhead that felt like a warm massage after a hard day of school or work.

One window on the first floor leads into the kitchen, painted a bright yellow, at Sam’s request after his room was finished _“it makes the room look bright and cheery, Dad!”_ white laminate countertops and an island in the middle of the room, where the boys prefer to eat instead of the kitchen table in the dining room. In it, is the new-to-them fridge, bought from the bargain finder last month, with Bobby’s and Dean’s help, after the old fridge kicked the bucket overnight. It left the testosterone-filled house with a nasty smell upon waking the next morning and much wasted food. The stove is plain white, coil-top, and older than the fridge. One of the elements burst into flames a couple days ago, while John had been making spaghetti, and he had insisted that the stove not be used until he can replace it with a newer model sometime over the weekend. He had already unplugged it. John was very happy that Dean and Sam were in the dining room, playing on the computer that had taken up residence on a corner of the dining room table. Understandably, fire scares John.

The dining room, barely used, laid between the kitchen and living room, directly in front door. The boys had no furniture of value in it, other than a dining table, four chairs, and the computer on the corner. Family pictures were scattered along the walls, showing everything from John and Mary’s wedding day to the boys’ school pictures taken almost a year ago. Those soon would be replaced with new ones when Dean started senior year and Sam started high school this year.

The window on the other side of the big blue door is the bay window, white lace curtains hanging on the inside. In this room we find the newer 32” television on an oak TV stand Mary bought when Sam was born, sitting along the half-wall separating the foyer and front door from the room. The TV stand holds a VCR on one shelf, a stereo Dean won in a school raffle last year on another shelf, and the old Nintendo Sammy found at a yard sale yesterday for twenty-five dollars of his own money. On the shelves lining the left side of the TV stand are movies the boys have collected from garage sales and rental store blowouts over the last five years. Speakers to the stereo sit on either side of the TV stand, facing the couch. The living room couch; old, brown, and beat up from too much use, sits along the wall to the right, two throw pillows on it for comfort. 

This is where we find John Winchester, feet up on the coffee table, beer in his hand, watching David Letterman and eagerly awaiting the arrival of his oldest son from his first no-adults party at Jo’s house, while Bobby and Ellen were on a date.  It is 11:00 on a Friday night, and Dean is expected home in an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so proud of this chapter, I wanted to keep going, but my wonderful husband told me to cut it there. He told me not to make it too long, and said "you gotta know where to stop, and it creates suspense." I have to admit, I completely agree with him.  
> So I continue tonight and tomorrow on Chapter 4, which will seriously advance the plot.....
> 
> Chapter title taken from the song "American Pie" by Don Mclean.


	4. The Day the Music Died, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback Part 2  
> August 4, 1995  
> Party time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean, 16 years old, is at Jo Harvelle's house for his first unsupervised Boy-Girl party.
> 
> A/N  
> This chapter is three times as big as the last Chapter.  
> Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me, they belong to Kripke.

August 4, 1995

Jo Harvelle’s House.

It’s 10:30 on Friday night, and the party is in full swing.

 

Joanna Beth Harvelle, long blonde hair and blue eyes, currently in the back corner of the living room with the punch bowl is serving non-alcoholic drinks all night, knowing that even one breach of trust between her and her mother and step-father means she will never be allowed to have a party unsupervised again. This first time is a test, and she fully intends on passing with flying colours.

The couch in the living room has been pushed back against the wall on the right, about three feet away from the front door; the coffee table moved to the dining room behind her, to create space for her friends to enjoy the party.

Ash Miles, her best friend, wearing a plaid shirt, sleeves cut off, and his brown hair in a long eighties style mullet, is at the CD player, in the front corner of the living room, opposite the front door. He is playing deejay for the night. She tosses him another can of root beer, “I can’t wait til we hit 21 and I can legally have a beer. Geez this pop thing sucks balls!” he yells at her.

“Hey! As my best friend, you know how important it is to me that we all follow the rules tonight! Suck it up!” she yells back, smiling.

To the right side of the currently unused dining room is the kitchen, recently renovated to the nines with new black refrigerator, stove, and built-in dishwasher.

Dean, blond hair, bright green eyes, and wearing his favourite Metallica shirt and jeans, is at the kitchen table, playing poker for potato chips with Charlie Bradbury, a tall redhead, geek extraordinaire; Lisa Braeden, a shorter brunette, and one of the most popular people at their high school; Joel Wesson, a short redhead with short wavy hair and a smattering of dark freckles on his pale face; Gabriel Novak, a foot shorter than Dean but slightly taller than Joel, light brown hair cut into a mop; and Alistair Smith, tall, thin, blonde, and the new guy at school.

“Hey Harvelle!” Lisa calls, “Do you have any more of that punch? That shit is gooooood!”

“Yeah! Half a bowl, missy,” yells Jo, as she passes the kitchen on her way to the basement to grab more chips.

Alistair stands from his chair, being out of this hand anyways, and says “Okay all in for the punch, hand me your glasses!”

Taking cups from Dean, Lisa, and Gabriel, plus his own, he wanders into the dining room, past the coffee table and the large dining room table and chairs, and into the living room, where, along with Jo and Ash, are other people dancing on the living room floor, all holding red solo cups full of punch and pop. Uriel Angelo, tall, black hair, star quarterback of the school’s football team; Gabe’s cousin Anna Novak, also a redhead, bright blue eyes, and normally shy; Shaun Miller, same 6”1’ height as Dean, hair a shocking pure white; Michael Campbell, tall, thin, black hair cut military style on his frame; Madison Hart, brunette, and just as beautiful as Lisa;  Gordon Walker, dark skinned, tall with almost-shaved-bald hair, Uriel’s best friend and teammate on the football team; and Uriel’s older sister Naomi, blonde, short hair, lithe tall frame, are all dancing in a large group, no one paying attention to the newcomer as he makes his way to the punch bowl on the table set up in the back corner. Garth Fitzgerald, tall, short brown hair hiding under his never-without-it-baseball hat, stickman-thin frame; Meg Masters, and short raven-haired, red, full lipped beauty; and Sarah Blake, short, dark brown hair, have just entered the living room from the kitchen, where they were watching the poker game and stealing bags of chips to take into the living room.

“Hey, I looooove this song Ash! Turn it UP!” yells Sarah, as Ace of Base kicks on. She places the stolen potato chips on top of the stereo.

As the music gets louder, a faint yell from the kitchen can be heard: “Geez Louise guys! How about some Zeppelin or Metallica out there? Not everyone likes the pop shit!”

“Shut it, Deano, you’ve been outvoted” replies Gabriel, loud enough for everyone to laugh.

“Aw Gabe, just cram your lollipop back in your mouth, you big child!” says Dean, boisterous laughter following his retort.

Alistair takes a quick look over his shoulders, checking to make sure no one is around. He puts the cups on the table in front of the punchbowl, and reaches into his pocket of his jeans. He pulls a small, inch-tall vial, a test tube, out of his pocket, and uncorks the stopper.

“No WAY can you beat me, Lis, I call!” He hears Dean from the kitchen.

Taking another quick glance and confirming he is, indeed, alone, he taps a small amount, one pinch worth, of the pale yellow powder into one glass. He needs to ensure that he makes it last, it wouldn’t do the plan any good to overdose the victim too quickly. He also needs to make certain he is able to continue dosing the target over the next hour if he is to succeed, without getting caught or arousing suspicion. It is a tricky plan, but he is the only one trusted to carry it out. His boss can make his life pure _hell_ if he fails now, not after taking so much time getting close enough for the victim to trust him.

“OH DEANO! You lost to a _girl_!” screams Gabriel, loud laughter and jeering sent Dean’s way.

He secures the stopper back onto the top of the glass vial, constantly checking over his shoulders, and places it back in his pocket. He then grabs the ladle out of the punchbowl, pouring punch into the target’s glass first, watching the pale yellow powder dissolve. Then he pours everyone else’s drinks. Taking note of whose glass belongs to whom, he grabs all four cups and carries them back into the kitchen, carefully laying each cup in front of its owner. He gets into his seat, noticing a new hand is about to begin, and places his ante in.

The entire process took less than 45 seconds.

*********

10:45 pm

Another round of poker down and Dean decides he’s feeling good. He wants to dance, but not to the pop crap playing in the living room. “Hey Ash!” he calls, entering the living room and abandoning his poker buddies. “I need something good!”

Ash, knowing exactly what Dean wants, nods his head and digs through the CD collection next to the stereo. He pulls up Soundgarden and presses play. Dean enters the living room completely, feeling slightly light-headed, and starts moving his body in the middle of the circle his friends have created on the floor.

Alistair, being familiar with the powder’s effects, moves to the cooler in the corner where Jo now resides, and grabs himself two Root Beers and calmly wanders away.

He heads up the stairs on the other side of the kitchen, and to the first door on the right, the bathroom. He locks himself in, opens both cans at the same time to lessen any arousing suspicion, and takes a drink out of the one on the left.

He then reaches into his pocket for the second time that night, unstops the cork on the vial, and slowly pours two pinches worth of the pale yellow powder into the can on the right, watching for any sign of over-carbonation. Seeing no unwanted side-effects, he puts the stopper back on the vial and replaces it in his pocket. He then grabs tissue, wipes the counter for good measure, and flushes the toilet. He turns on the taps to wash his hands and make the scenario plausible, dries them, and exits the bathroom, carrying his own pop in his left hand and the other in his right.

When _Spoonman_ finishes, Dean feels unbearably thirsty, and without realizing he said anything out loud, Alistair is in front of him holding out an open Root Beer for him.

“Hey! Thanks, man, I need this,” he says, with a grin and a wink, “and you even opened it for me! Awesome!” He then begins to chug half the can. Alistair smiles.

*********

11:00 pm

Dean is feeling _good_. _Real good._ He has gone through an entire can of Root Beer in under ten minutes and still the thirst won’t abate. Ash has put Alice in Chains into the CD player, and he is sitting on a stool in the kitchen, eyes closed, enjoying _Rooster_. The living room is almost completely empty, anyone who landed in the kitchen talking fast and loud, the song is not one that is typically danced to. Gabe, Lisa, Charlie and Joel have returned to their poker game, Uriel and Naomi have joined them in his absence. Alistair is hovering over the punchbowl, making conversation with Jo, and unbeknownst to everyone else, waiting for his next opportunity to dose another glass of punch.

A game of Seven Minutes in Heaven is starting in the basement, and Ash will join the group downstairs after the song so he can switch to a mix CD. Anna, Shaun, Michael, Madison, Gordon, Garth, Meg and Sarah are all downstairs waiting for anyone else to join.

Ash and Jo agree that moving the table and punch bowl, complete with all the cups still sitting on it, and the two coolers holding the ice and pop is too much effort.

The song ends, and after Ash switches CDs, he ropes everyone into joining the moved party downstairs. “Hey, everyone! Seven Minutes of Heaven in the basement! Come on! People are waiting so let’s move it!”

Lisa, Gabe, Uriel, Naomi, Charlie and Joel are quick to finish their last hand of poker, and head down the stairs.

Dean, thirsty, decides he needs a glass of punch before he heads to the basement, and meets Alistair at the table. “Oh hey man, you coming’ down too?” he asks.

“Definitely. You thirsty again?” Alistair asks.

“Yeah, man. I’m feeling good, and uh, wow, thirsty, uh…” Dean stumbles over his own feet for a moment, straightening himself out, “oh wow whoops,” he says, laughing it off, “that could have ended badly,” he laughs some more.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Alistair says, reaching out to catch Dean if he falls, “hey, why don’t you head downstairs, plant your ass on a piece of carpet man. I’ll bring you some punch. Go head on down, I got this.”

“Oh, wow, man uh, thanks, you’re _awesome_. So, uh, yeah, I’ll just… yeah…” as he turns away and heads towards the waiting group. Dean is beginning to feel a little more lightheaded but a _lot_ happier.

Listening to Dean’s retreating footsteps on the stairs, Alistair seizes his third opportunity. He grabs a fresh cup from the table for Dean, not knowing where his first cup went. He listens carefully for any footsteps coming up the stairs, having carefully paid attention to the party’s attendees and knowing every person in the house except himself is out of view. He pulls the vial out of his pocket, notices he has half of the original contents left and very little time, pulls the stopper and dumps a third of the remaining vial into the cup. He then quickly grabs the ladle, and dumps punch into the cup. He uses his finger to stir the mixture, ensuring it dissolves quicker. He puts the stopper back onto the vial and slams it into his pocket, still stirring Dean’s cup. Giving it a quick glance, he decides the powder is dissolved enough and fills his own glass, carefully not licking his now wet finger. He gave an extra strong dose to Dean this time, four times as strong as his last one, and knowing he can’t ingest the solution himself without consequences, he wipes his finger on his jeans, just under them hem of his t-shirt, so no one notices an unexplainable wet spot.

He turns, holding both classes in his hand, and takes a quick glance at both cups, making sure the powder didn’t noticeably change the colour of the punch. Satisfied, he goes down the stairs to join the group, taking careful steps to not drop any liquid on Jo’s floors.

Alistair joins the group in a circle, and hands Dean his glass of punch, just as Gabriel is explaining the rules of tonight’s game.

“Now, we all know how to play. We pick a starter and that person goes into the closet. Someone else will spin the bottle, cough cough me, and the chosen person will go into the closet for Seven Minutes, shortened tonight because of the current time, so, in the interest of hurrying this along before the party ends, you will have three minutes, and the two in there will do – _whatever_ – they want for that time. Jo will keep the time and Ash will keep the camera. Now, because we have people here with familial relations – my sister and a couple cousins – family members will NOT be forced into the closet together. At any time, if anyone is uncomfortable with going into the closet, you must answer a truth or dare question I will spin the bottle again. Is everyone clear?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes” and “Get on with it already!” is heard from the group.

“Okay, who volunteers to stand in the closet first?” asks Ash.

Jo pipes up and says, “It’s my house, I’ll go first. Gabe, as soon as the door is closed, spin that shit.” She heads into the closet at the bottom of the stairs, closes the door, and, standing in the dark, surrounded by Bobby’s work gear, listens to the group outside.

Gabriel spins the bottle. When it lands on Dean, he asks if he can skip out. He downs his punch as Gabriel asks him for a valid reason. “Well, she’s the step daughter of my dad’s best friend. She’s like a little sister to me. I’ll do truth or dare if you spin again.”

“Nope. She’s not blood. No excuse. Look, if you don’t want to physically touch her, you don’t have to. Spend a few minutes talking, whatever. But without a blood relation, there is no excuse. Go get ‘er, big boy,” Gabriel states, smacking Dean on the shoulder as he stands and stumbles his way to the closet. “Geez, Dean, it’s not _that_ bad!” he laughs.

Dean laughs it off and straightens himself out. He climbs into the closet, Gabriel holding onto the watch, and stands in the closet. “Hello? Who is it?” Jo quietly asks.

“Dean. Gabe says… says we’re not, uh, blood… so I hafta be, uh, in here. With you. But you’re like, uh, sister? And I don’t… feel… right.”

“Hey, yeah, no worries. Honestly, Dean, being in here with you is weird enough. You’re like, my brother, man, so, uh, what do you wanna talk about?”

“Uh, hey! Great party, man! Uh, this party is really rockin!”

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, grabbing his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, no I’m feeling good, maybe a little dizzy? Yeah but I’m having a loads of fun! Really. I think this closet is maybe just a little too, uh, small? It’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replies, “but it’s the only closet down here big enough to hold two people. Sorry.” Jo lets go of Dean’s arm. “I think our time is almost-“

“Time’s UP!” yells Gabe, as he wrenches the door open and Ash takes a picture, shining bright light straight into their eyes. “Okay, you two, you’re excused. Out now. Okay, next into the closet is Uriel. Get in there, big boy!” he says, with a wink.

Uriel glares at Gabriel and climbs into the closet, closing the door.

“Hey, man, you feeling okay?” Alistair asks, when Dean sits back down. “You’re looking a little peaked.”

“Yeah man, just, uh, so _thirsty_. It was hot in that tiny closet. I’m gonna head upstairs and grab something to drink.”

“No, man, hey, you sit. You look like you’re about to fall over. Can’t have that. You sit. I need to head upstairs to the bathroom anyways. I’ll be right back.” Alistair climbs to his feet, puts his left hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him sitting, and grabs his cup from in front of Dean with his right hand.

*********

11:10 pm

At the top of the stairs, Alistair panics. ‘ _holy shit holy shit I gave him too much too quickly but how was I supposed to know he was going to down the whole damn cup in one shot ohmygod I better calm down I’m not done and we still have twenty minutes to go before he heads home and the plan goes into action okay Al think calm down and think’_ The running commentary in his head carries him through the kitchen, and straight into the washroom where he turns on the taps and runs a little cold water on his face to cool down. He takes the opportunity to rinse out dean’s cup, washing away the evidence. _Okay big boy you can do this. Just don’t give him so much this time. Or maybe tell him to slow down. The effects of this shit are only going to get worse. There’s only twenty minutes left. You can do this. The cab will be here in twenty minutes to take him out of here and you gotta get him into it without raising suspicion._ These thoughts guide him back to the table holding the drinks, and he makes the decision to grab a can of cola. Figuring the pop is dark enough to hide any colour changes the powder causes, he opens the can and pulls the vial out of his pocket, pops the stopper for a final time, and dumps the remaining powder, twice as much as the last dose, into the can. He places the stopper back on the vial, pockets the now empty vial and heads downstairs with the can of cola for Dean and a can of Root Beer for himself. _Okay just watch him closely, don’t let him drink it too fast twenty minutes twenty minutes twenty minutes._ He returns to his seat just in time for Uriel and Charlie to exit the closet, Jo screaming “Time’s UP!” and Ash taking pictures.

*********

11:15 pm

Anna is waiting patiently in the closet, laughing as Gabriel shouts “I have the right to re-spin! She’s my _cousin,_ ” surrounded by rambunctious laughter, when Charlie squeals; “Yeah I got no issue about being in the closet with another girl!” she winks and the group and slides in, the laughter in the room increasing in volume.

“Geez Char! That’s no secret!” Shaun yells back at her.

Dean is sitting on the floor, slowly drinking his cola, pale face slowly gaining colour. “Al, I don’t feel so good. I uh, think I ate too many chips and gummy bears.”

“Okay man, no problem. Being in that small hot closet didn’t help. Look, I’ll call you a cab and get you taken home, alright? Just, wait here, I’ll be upstairs,” he says, looking at Dean carefully. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you’re starting to look better. Drink your pop slowly. It’ll help. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks man,” he nods, “you’re a good guy.”

 _Ohmygod don’t say that you have no idea_ Alistair thinks, as he makes his way upstairs to the phone in the kitchen. He picks up the phone, making sure he is alone, and dials. “Yeah. I need a cab at 4425 Green Street. Name? Dean Winchester. Fifteen minutes? Perfect, thank you we’ll be outside waiting.” He hangs up the telephone, wondering why his boss told him to call a real cab company and place a real call. He heads back downstairs, just as Jo bursts the closet door open and Ash flashes his camera on a very busy Anna and Charlie, heavily making out in the closet. The girls emerge, gasping for air and blinking and smile at the group, holding hands and taking their seats.

The whole group, Dean included, laugh and clap. “It’s about TIME!” yells Dean, feeling a little less lightheaded than he was. Anna and Charlie smile at each other, Anna turning a little red in the face.

Alistair takes his seat next to Dean, and lets him know the cab will be arriving to take him home in fifteen minutes. “You should finish your pop. I’ll wait with you outside if you want,” he offers.

Gabriel spins the bottle as Shaun takes his turn in the closet. Dean drinks more of his pop, Al’s eyes covertly watching Dean’s every move.

“Jo! You’re in Three Minutes of Heaven with Shaun! Move it, girlie,” laughs Gabriel. She gets up and goes in, giggling “aw, he’s such a _cutie!”_ closing the door behind her.

Dean downs another large gulp of his pop, can half empty, Al watching the clock.

*********

11:20 pm

Dean’s face starts to lose the pale, his stomach stops churning. His head is starting to feel like it’s floating, and the _good_ feeling is returning. He starts to smile, listening to the party going on around him. His ears hear everything in a dulled way, feeling like they need to pop. He wonders if this is what being high feels like. He watches everyone around him, trying to find signs of anyone else feeling like the floor shifted to the left by ten feet. He hears Gabriel call his name, but it sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “Yeah?”

“It’s your turn in the closet, old chum. Move it along now,” Gabe replies, squinting at Dean.

“OH! Yeah, uh, okay, sorry, my mind wandered for a minute. Sorry, OKAY! Going now,” he winks at Gabriel, standing, stumbling over Alistair’s foot for a second “Sorry” “Nope, my fault buddy”. Dean walks himself over to the closet, and pulls the door shut.

To the outside world, Dean looks perfectly normal. He walks into the closet without problems, arousing no suspicion. But Alistair, watching Dean closely for every change in him, knows that Dean only has a maximum of fifteen minutes left before the powder’s full effects kick in, knocking Dean on his ass and his memory out of his mind.

Good thing the Cab will be here in less than ten minutes.

*********

11:22 pm

Dean is standing in the closet, holding onto Bobby’s coveralls, feeling hot, sweaty, and dizzy. Lisa is in the closet with him, placing soft kisses to his neck and ears. Dean wouldn’t mind if Lisa was kissing his lips, but something about the way he’s feeling makes him think that she will get sick if he allows her that. So he stands there, moving his head from side to side, never letting her touch his face.

*********

11:24 pm

“SMILE!!! Time’s up,” Jo yells as Ash takes yet another picture of the closet. Dean smiles and blinks into the light. Lisa is smiling, slightly disappointed. She was _sure_ she had a chance with Dean. The way he was always flirting with her, winking and making dirty jokes made her think she had a shot. But he refused to kiss or touch her in the closet. She smiles for the sake of the party, but her heart feels heavy. She walks out of the closet and takes her seat on the carpet, between Charlie and Michael. Dean takes his seat next to Alistair, whom Gabriel calls next to the closet. Alistair climbs up and enters without a fight. Sarah is sent in behind him. _Well, at least I’ll have a good memory of this party, if nothing else_ he thinks.

*********

11:26 pm

Dean takes another large gulp of his pop, can almost empty. He feels like he is floating fifty feet above everyone else, the smile refuses to leave his face. He catches Lisa looking at him, and he sends her a wink. She blushes and looks away. The group of friends continue talking to each other, while Jo and Ash wait by the closet door, counting down to what they call the “Big Reveal”.

*********

11:28

“Dean. Dean,” Alistair whispers to Dean, watching as he gulps the last of his pop, “Dean, the cab will be here right away. You still want to go home?”

“Al? Cab? Yeah. Yes.” He responds, standing. “Well, everyone, it’s been a great party, but I gotta head home. Curfew is at midnight, so I will see you all later!” Dean says, words calm and clear, body steady. His mind and his mouth seem to be moving at two different speeds, mind muddled while his mouth works without instruction. Has he been brainwashed? What does his mouth know that his brain forgot?

He moves towards the stairs, gives everyone a smile and wink goodbye, and gets to the front door without incident.

“I’ll be right back. I just want to make sure he gets into the cab safely. It’s late,” Alistair explains to the group. No one is paying attention to him, Michael is in the closet and the bottle is spinning, landing on Joel.

“Would you like some company, Al?” asks Sarah.

“Uh, yeah, that would be great,” he responds with a smile.

When they arrive to the top of the stairs, Dean is opening the front door, wearing his jacket and boots, but no cab is waiting yet. They hold him at the door and go with him out to the sidewalk. Sarah grabs and holds onto Al’s hand, smiling shyly.

*********

11:32

A large yellow cab pulls up to the sidewalk, and Al holds the back door open for Dean.

“Dean Winchester?” the driver asks.

“Uh, yup,” he responds, climbing in the back.

“Okay, where am I going?”

“16 Walnut Street” answers Al.

Dean, eyes closing and yawning, says “Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s home. I’m so tired. I uh, wanna sleep.”

“Okay, no problem. Thanks, kid,” the driver says to Alistair, eyes flashing black.

Stunned, Alistair stands, slams the door of the cab, and watches it as it pulls away.

Sarah, completely unaware of the driver’s eyes, holds Al’s hand and says, “wanna go back in now?”

“Uh, yeah,” he looks down at her, “Yeah sure.”

They walk back into the house. _I did not just see that. I did not just see that. It’s dark and I’m dreaming and what-the-hell-did-I-just-get-myself-involved-in and I did NOT just see that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 in the works, it will be set back in present-day.  
> Thanks for reading, everyone!  
> If you find any editing issues (spelling, grammar, etc) please feel free to let me know and I will correct it :)


	5. Distinctive Car Spotted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present Day, Sam, Gabriel, and Ash work overtime on their latest case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this Chapter.  
> I was updating daily, but spent the weekend sick in bed. This Chapter is complete and I hope you enjoy!  
> :)

Present Day

Las Vegas, Nevada

 

The offices of Crowley’s Angels sits in the penthouse suite of a plain brown brick building, eight floors tall, located on East Tropical Ave, facing Paradise Park. The building is nothing spectacular, no markings on the building to identify it to the average passerby. The bottom floor is plain, security cameras everywhere, warning the boys to any visitors, only a keypad denoting the numbers 1 – 0 and some symbols are located at the front door, allowing no random people access. The windows of the bottom floor are so tinted over that a curious person cannot see inside.

The bottom floor contains a reception desk, sitting twelve feet from the front door and to the left, Becky Rosen behind it ten hours per day, five days per week. She is short, with medium length blonde hair, and spends most of her time reading a book, usually part of Carver Edlund’s _Supernatural_ series, writing fan fiction about its main characters, or diverting telephone calls either to Crowley’s direct line or hanging up.

The reception office is twenty feet high, taking up the former second floor during the last renovation, walls painted a light brown colour; pictures of nature and scenery dot the walls. The windows on both floors allow a lot of sunshine in, regardless of the tinting. Becky likes the brightness; it helps keep her cheerful during the long, lonely days spent interacting with her online friends and fans, and Ash.

Very few people come into the building, with all employees housed in private suites on the sixth and seventh floors.

The main floor has a few potted plants, Becky being responsible for their upkeep. The elevators sit to the right of the door, down the hall that runs fifteen feet past Becky’s desk. A security check-in desk, manned by Ash Miles, sits in that hall, just in front of the elevators. He is the person who does a final retina scan of any visitors that Becky allows into the building. Across from the elevators sits a single private washroom, containing a single toilet and sink, only used by Becky and Ash. Both have a key to the locked door.

Ash spends most of his time on the computer, doing any hacking and searching Crowley designates important for a case. Being a former MIT student and certified genius allows him the quickly hack into any FBI or CIA file Crowley can’t access using his own connections. As a constant side-project, unknowingly to Crowley, he spends every moment of his free time searching for his missing high school chums, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. After 18 years, his hopes have dimmed, but they have never outright left him. Their computer-aged mock-ups lay in the top drawer of his desk.

The third floor of the building houses files of former cases, dating back from over sixty years, when Crowley’s father first opened the business, to thirty years ago. The space is sparse, looking more like a warehouse than an office. Every box is stacked on plain metal shelves, dated by year, then alphabetically. The oldest boxes, containing closed cases, are covered in layers of dust, the dust thinning out on more recent cases.

The fourth floor holds the other storage space in the building, holding filed boxes of open and closed cases from the last thirty years. The layers of dust here are minimal; employees going into this storage space more often.

The fifth floor contains a shared kitchen on the right of the elevator doors, fully furnished with stainless steel appliances; flat-top stove, double-door fridge with the freezer on the bottom, built-in dishwasher, granite countertops; holding a coffee pot, tea kettle, and a toaster. There is a large oak dining room table, six oak chairs with cushioning on the seats, and a double sink. A telephone is attached to the wall by the entrance, used to communicate between offices. The room itself is barely used, in place only for visitors to the building, when Becky makes coffee or tea.

Down the hall, on the left from the elevator, sits a meeting room, large white walls. A 60” projection screen hangs off the ceiling, on the front wall opposite the tinted windows, large oak table, big enough for twelve people, sits in the middle of the large room, soft leather chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table, in front of the windows, sits a laptop, wirelessly connected to the projection screen.  There are no pictures or paintings in this room, white boards and cork boards covering every available surface. Nothing in this room is used often; the white boards and cork boards hang empty, cleaned after every meeting. Across the hall from the meeting room are men’s and women’s washrooms, cleaned daily but rarely used. The entire floor is completely sound-proofed from each room and other floors. This is to ensure complete privacy for the high-end clients that rarely walk the building.

The sixth floor has a single hallway, leading to a locked room on the left of the elevators, another on the right. Ash’s room, on the right, opens directly into the living room. This room has brown suede living room furniture, 52” television, a stereo system large and loud enough to blow a woman’s clothes off her body (not that women ever visit the building), and DVD shelves stacked with every movie released in the last twenty years. Everyone borrows DVDs from Ash, his collection beats all others. Directly across from here stands the kitchen, fully stocked with upgraded black appliances; sink and black and white tile countertops. The fridge is loaded in beer; Ash stocks no food as an excuse to eat Becky’s cooking on almost-nightly basis. To the left of the kitchen stands a door leading into the full five-piece bathroom, completely done in shades of red. Across from that, lays Ash’s bedroom. He enjoys his queen bed, covered in black and red bedding, a desk and chair across from the bed, dresser to the right, all oak. The walk-in closet lays to the left of the bed.  The living space, in total, resembles a large square. Every room in his suite is large.

Becky’s room, on the left end of the hallway, is the mirror set-up as Ash’s suite. Their bedrooms share a wall, but her room is decorated in dark pink bedding, light pink walls, and white furniture. She spends many nights staring at her ceiling; where (unknown to anyone else) a blown-up picture of Sam rests, dreaming of the man who sleeps one floor above her. She has plain white appliances in her kitchen, preferring simplicity over style. Her bathroom is done in white, with robin’s egg blue walls for a splash of colour. Becky’s living room contains a white leather seating, with two armchairs in her suite, as opposed to everyone else’s one. This is her favourite room, the crew gathering every Friday night (when not travelling for an active case) in this room, eating her cooking and her snacks, watching whatever DVD Ash brings from his place. Her stereo is a smaller and quieter model. She does not feel the need to blow the clothing off women.

Every floor from the sixth up is completely sound proofed; employees deserve their own privacy as well.

The seventh floor opens to no hallway, doors on either side of the elevator opening to larger suites. Sam’s room lays on the left, above Becky’s; Gabriel’s room on the right above Ash’s room.

Sam’s suite, decorated in his yellow-and-green colour scheme of his childhood room, has a living room the same size as the others, his furniture black leather, his television the same size.  His stereo is not as loud or large as Ash’s, but he installed extra speakers in the house, ensuring surround sound piped into every room. His kitchen, located above Becky’s, contains upgraded white appliances, white tile countertops, and yellow walls to give the room a cheery feel. While he may have aged, his tastes have not. His bathroom, to the right of the kitchen, is also painted yellow, bathmats and shower curtains green.  On the other side of his bathroom sits a den, containing his large desk and bookshelves surround the room, containing books of the mythical and non-mythical equally. Sam is not one for coincidences, and he grew up on the belief that some monster stole his brother. He has nothing concrete to base this idea from, and his coworkers think he let his twelve-year-old imagination run away from him. He stopped talking about the idea two years ago, letting everyone believe he ‘matured’.  His most recent closed cases, yet to be filed, lay scattered on his desk. Sam’s bedroom, the largest room in his suite, contains a king size bed, yellow and green bedding ensemble, a full two-piece dresser set, and a walk-in closet double the size of the ones located on the floor below. Sam enjoys his space, and his privacy.

Gabriel’s home is the exact mirror of Sam’s, the colour schemes are different. He prefers the browns and tans found in nature. His walls are painted the same light brown of the reception area, furniture all the darker shade of wet sand. His appliances are black, countertops plain white tile. The bathmats and shower curtains are the off-white colour of a talc-sand beach in the Caribbean.  Gabriel’s bedding resembles the shade of dry sand on a beach, his walls in his bedroom painted a light yellow, a blue stripe across the middle of the wall around the room. In this room, his favourite, he feels like he is laying on a beach, listening to the ocean’s waves crash. If the ceiling of his room is painted the same shade of brown as Sam's eyes, nobody needs to know. Gabe’s den holds twice the files as Sam’s room, arranged neatly in stacks on his dark brown oak desk. He has fewer bookshelves, holding popular fiction of all kinds, ranging from as new as the Percy Jackson series, to as old as Vonnegut. His bookshelf is currently missing a few books, Sam having borrowed the Anne Rice series of vampire books.

The entire building is covered in a beige carpet, thick and soft. None of the residents of the building have chosen to change the colour in their own suites.

The eighth floor, the penthouse, is one large office. Opening directly from the elevator, the employees land in the heart of the main office. In front sits two black leather chairs, pointed right, facing a large oak desk, empty but for a large video screen on top. Plants surround the desk and chairs, watered daily by Becky. The room is painted a bright white; paintings by Van Gogh, Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Picasso line the walls. One wall to the left of the desk contains a whiteboard and a cork board, currently lined with notes on the “Bonnie & Clyde” case – a name Sam picked, judging from the relationship of the culprits, as well as knowing Dean would’ve loved the reference – they’ve poured themselves into since 8:00 this morning.  In the closet next to the elevator, hiding behind their jackets, is posted copies of pictures of Dean, missing at age 16; medium blond hair and green eyes; and Castiel, missing since age 14, medium-dark brown hair and average blue eyes.  Underneath these photos are the mockups Ash provided them with three years ago.  Neither boy’s physical characteristics have been changed; hair, eyes believed to remain the same. Computer-generated aging images are never perfect, unable to take into account living conditions – changing a person’s height or weight; physical environment – changing a person’s hair colour in any shade; or life experiences – hardening or softening a person’s face.  This view is hidden from the videophone, Crowley believing the boys to have abandoned the cases a year ago.

To the right of the room lay the windows. A 60” projection screen, similar to the one in the meeting room, is currently rolled down, the security tapes from the morning’s footage replaying. Gabe is hunched on a black leather chair, swiveled to face the large screen, staring at the laptop on the coffee table in front of him. The freeze frame of the suspects, in the close-up, is paused on the screen, frozen in time. He has spent the last hour staring at it, a slightly nauseous feeling in his stomach, elbows on his knees and fingers threaded through his medium-length honey-coloured hair. 

It’s 11:45 at night, and Sam, all 6’5” of his strong athletic body, is passed out on the black leather couch on the right side of the room, next to the desk, facing the projection screen. The computer on the side table at the head of the couch is running programs of its own, screen flickering quickly. Sam fell asleep an hour and a half ago, printed information of the case strewn across his chest, one arm hanging off the couch and laying on the carpet, holding the print off of the map of Lawrence. Not like he needed it, he knows Lawrence as well as he knows the back of his hand.

“Sam.”  No response.

“SAM.”

Sam snuffles, shoots his body into a sitting position, and stares at the plant at his feet. “Wha- huh? Wazzup?”

“Sam. There’s something about this case that bothers me.”

“Huh? Yeah, okay, uh, coffee,” he replies, wiping his face with his hands. He gets up and heads to the coffee pot on the table next to the elevator door. He pours himself a cup, walks towards Gabriel and plants himself on the chair next to him. “Okay, let’s try that again. What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. There’s so much that’s unusual about this.”

“Gabe. All of our cases are unusual. That’s why we get them. What specifically is keeping you awake about this?”

“I can’t seem to keep my eyes off these guys. I mean, something about them strikes me as familiar. But I don’t know what. Here, I’m going for some coffee, would you like to stare at them for a while? My eyes need a break,” he says, leaving for the coffee pot.

“Uh, ya sure. Maybe you just need to sleep,” Sam says, not looking at the screen. “After all, we’ve been over this and over this. We have had the security tapes on replay since 8:00 this morning. We’ve pulled every source we can access on this, and Ash is working overtime on hacking into every security camera across the country looking for a hit on the car’s plates. We have the computer” he points to the one next to the couch “running through every police and FBI database we can, looking for a physical match. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, staring at the close up all night,” he says, slightly bitchy from exhaustion.  He still hasn’t looked at the screen. He’s afraid if he looks at it one more time, he’ll cry. And he has no idea why he feels that way.

Gabriel, noticing Sam hasn’t taken his eyes off him, says, “Geez, can you just look at them? Something smells fishy about this.”

“Alright. Go lay on the couch for a bit, rest your eyes. I got this.”

Gabriel heads to the couch, picking up the dropped papers on his way. _‘Why can’t Sam ever pick things up?’_   He puts his coffee and the file, now reorganized, on the coffee table next to the laptop, and glances at Sam, whose eyes are wide. “Sam? You okay?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, “But, you’re right. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I felt it earlier. Something about these guys just feels _familiar_ , ya know? Has the computer hit on the face recognition programs yet?” he asks, pulling himself out of his blue funk.

“No, but we only have a side view. We don’t have a single clear shot of their faces. I hope Ash has better luck and we catch their faces with another camera somewhere,” He says, still standing next to Sam, couch forgotten.

“Yeah. Okay, let’s take a breather. I’m starved. Let’s see if Becky left anything in the main kitchen for dinner.”

*********

There was nothing in the main kitchen, but when the boys decided to head to the seventh floor for their own grub, they were awarded a note on Sam’s door:

_Boys,_

_I cooked spaghetti and left you some in Ash’s room, knowing you’d be up late and skip dinner. AGAIN._

_Go see Ash for his keys. I’m sure he’s also still awake._

_-Beks._

“Sweet. That Becky, always taking care of us,” says Gabe, heading back to the elevator, “I think Ash is still at the security desk. Let’s go poke the bear.”

Ash is at the security desk, head plopped face down on his desk, fallen asleep while his computer screen flips through security footage.

“Ash,” Sam pokes his arm, “Yo, Ash. Becky said it’s dinnertime at your place, man. C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

“Asher!” Gabe says, poking his other arm, “C’mon man, we’re hungry. And all the beer is in _your_ fridge. Beer, man! BEER!”

Ash shoots up, “Beer? Where?”

Sam laughs, “Yeah, man, the beer is in your place, with dinner. C’mon, man, hungry, thirsty. Food. Beer. Your place. Let’s go!”

Ash stands, and the three boys climb back into the elevator leading to the sixth floor.

“Wait,” Gabe says, “why don’t you guys go up, bring mine down here for me? I’ll watch the computer.”

“No need, mi amigo,” Ash responds. “I’m a genius, remember? My watch will let me know if we hit while we’re AFK.”

They climb into the elevator and hit the sixth. Ash opens the door, enters the kitchen, and grabs three beers. Sam goes behind him and pulls one of the three plates out of the fridge, placing it in the microwave for reheating. When the first plate is done, he hands it to Gabriel and heats a second plate, handing it to Ash before placing his own in the microwave.

“So, Ash, how would you find the car on security tapes in your sleep? Don’t your eyes have to be, you know, _open_?” asks Sam.

“Nah man,” Ash responds around a mouthful of food. “I generated my own software for number and letter recognition. When I run that in the background with a screen open on the freeze frame of the car and plate you sent me, alongside the program speeding through the country’s security cameras, the computer will freeze everything and alert me with a ding.” He pauses for a gulp of his beer. “It will be a faster process since I’m only working on security tapes beginning after 11:00 am yesterday.”

Sam grabs his dinner and places it on the table, grabbing three more bottles of beer on his way.

“The older the information, the longer my program would take,” Ash continues. “And a lot of the smaller security cameras delete old information after 48 hours. You’re lucky you got this case while the information was still fresh.”

Sam and Gabe nod their heads.

It’s 1:30 am by the time the boys finish their spaghetti, place their dishes in the dishwasher and the empty bottles in the case next to the door. The three of them climb into the elevator as a beeping alarm sounds from Ash’s watch.

“Sweet. Let’s go, boys, I got a hit on your car.”


	6. Rest Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another successful job, Dean and Cas take a break.

Breckenridge, Colorado

 

The Blue Lagoon motel, on the West end of town, is no different from any other hole-in-the-wall shithouse the duo hides in, and that’s exactly how they like it. Nobody expects master criminals to hide in shitholes, especially after a bank robbery. Dean and Cas know, though, that the money they stole on today’s job isn’t for them. It is 9:00, and the boys are in a single room: a queen size bed, two nightstands, two lamps, a television, and a small moldy bathroom; getting ready for a night of rest before hitting Vegas. There is absolutely nothing in this room even remotely blue, a stark contrast to the building’s name.

 

Dean is in the bathroom, wearing his black t shirt and red boxer briefs, brushing his teeth. Castiel is lying in bed under the sheets, leaning against the headboard. His white tank top is all that is visible, and he is holding the remote and flipping through the channels. He lands on an episode of _Dr. Sexy_ , and sneaks a peek at Dean, as he climbs in the bed.

“Hey babe,” Dean says, planting a kiss on Cas’ lips, “been a long day. I’m _exhausted_.”

“I have a present for you,” he responds, voice low and scratchy. “You’ll have to look for it though…”

“Oh? And where could you have hidden this gift?” Dean sits up a little further, looking around the room.

“Closer than you think…”

Dean looks at Castiel curiously, noting that his eyes are losing their blue sparkle to the blackness of pupils, his breathing going shallow and increasing in speed. Their eyes lock, Castiel’s mouth opens a fraction. “Actually, now it’s _two_ presents….” He whispers, breath ghosting over Dean’s lips, pupils now completely blown.

Dean attaches his lips to Cas’, taking the open mouth as the invitation it is meant to be. He wraps his arm around Castiel’s chest and back, and rolled over to land on top of him.

Dean notices something small, round, and hard on his thigh mid-roll, and he pulls away from Cas for a moment, reaching down to grab the offending object. Pulling it out from under the covers, he notices a bottle of lube, and he looks at Cas, eyes darkening. “Oh, and what is this?” He teases, smirking at the beautiful blue-eyed man under him.

“That’s one…” Castiel whispers.

Dean places the lube under his pillow and reaches his hand back under the covers, blindly searching, while he places butterfly kisses on Castiel’s chest and collarbone. He brushes his hand against Cas’ thigh, and Cas’ breath hitches, “Warmer.”

Dean pauses, lifts his head to look Cas in the eyes, and squints. _So, THAT’S how we’re playing it…_ He slowly moves his hand up and down the side of the thigh, watching Cas closely for his reaction; noticing that Cas flinches when his hand lands on his hip. Dean, figuring the surprise is close by, moves his hand further from the warm body underneath him and scans the bed.

“Colder.”

_Hmmmmm. Okay._ He moves his hand laterally back to Cas’ hip, relishing the increased heat emitting from the skin of his lover. He slides his hand one inch closer to Cas’ hard heat, breath increasing as his erection moves from half-on to full-on. When Castiel’s breathing becomes labored and his eyes close in ecstasy, Dean pulls towards his lover again and mouths hot wet kisses along his jawline.

“Warmer,” Cas breathes.

Dean swiftly moves his hand to hover directly over top of the hard pink cock and waits, barely touching, eyeing Cas.

“Hotter! HOTTER!” Dean grabs the aroused muscle of flesh, gripping hard but stroking slowly. Cas groans, all deep and gravelly.

“Holy shit, baby! You came to bed without your underwear!” Dean realizes under his breath, stopping his hand from stroking the hard member in his stunned haze.

“Gift number two,” Cas smiles at him, eyes open and lust-blown.

Dean, completely wrecked at the confession, lowers his head back to Castiel and places hot open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, moving quickly down to his collarbone, followed by his chest. He grabs the lube from under the pillow and places a drop on his hand, releasing the cock from his grip. Castiel barely has the chance to protest before the slicked hand is replaced, lube returned to its spot under the pillow. Dean moves mouth to Cas’ nipple, worrying first one and then the other. Castiel _keens_ at the feeling, face reddening; Dean moves his lips further down to his abs, and finally following the trail of black hair to the magic place.

Castiel wraps one leg on top of Dean’s hip and flips them over. Dean gasps at the sudden change in position.

“Cas-“

“Shhhhh. Let me.” Cas squeezes his hands on Dean’s hips, holding him down, and places his mouth directly on Dean’s glistening cock, licking the precum from the slit. Dean groans at the sensations, cock twitching, and grabs Cas’ shoulders for something solid to hold on to.

“Cas,” he groans, voice gravelly and fucked out. Castiel reaches under the pillow for the lube, and slicks up his own fingers. Mouth still working its magic, tongue sliding up and down Dean’s shaft, Castiel reaches behind him and rubs one slicked up finger against his own puckered hole. Dean’s hands move to grip Castiel’s glorious black hair, trying to control how hard he pulls, and he tosses his head back against the pillows on the bed, mouth agape in pure pleasure.

Cas groans at the tingling of his hair being tugged on, and inserts the finger, breaching the barrier. He moves it in and out, quickly adding a second. His mouth has increased speed, and he relaxes his throat, allowing Dean’s cock further into his mouth, swallowing him down.

As he scissors his two fingers, Dean’s balls tighten and he tries to control himself, not wanting to cum in his mouth. Dean gasps “Oh my god Cas!” and Castiel releases his hard length from his mouth, slurping loud and wet, spit dripping from his pick puffy mouth and Dean’s dick.

Dean wraps one hand onto the base of his cock, preventing the stemming tide of his own release.

Castiel adds a third finger, gives himself a quick stretch and, on his knees, climbs up to sit on Dean’s hips. Using his free hand for balance, he leans forward and shoves his tongue down Dean’s throat, groaning loudly at the pressure of hitting his own prostate.

He removes his fingers, reaches for the lube yet again, and slicks up Dean’s cock, pushing Dean's hand out of his way.  He leans back, releasing Dean’s mouth from his own, aims the cock to his stretched-out hole, and gingerly sits. The mushroomed head breaches the barrier, and Dean inhales and freezes, waiting for Cas to get used to the fullness.

Castiel’s head drops forward in pleasure, and he slides himself further down onto Dean. As soon as he is fully seated, both men pause for a moment, breathing quickly and bodies shaking with the sensuality of the feeling. After only a moment, Cas begins to slowly move his hips, rocking up and down against the hard shaft, leaning forward to place his mouth on Dean’s nipples, sucking gently. “Cas,“ Dean moans, “Oh Cas, yes –“ Dean reaches his hands up to Castiel’s back, rubbing up and down with one hand, sliding the other down to his hip, gripping tightly. He is sure it will leave a beautiful bruise in the morning. Castiel picks up his pace, bouncing now; his face flush with ecstasy.

“Dean,” Cas moans, changing his angle just enough that he feels Dean’s cock bump directly onto his prostate. “Baiser, Dean, il y a droit,” Cas yells, “Oh mon dieu ne s'arrête pas.”

Dean grabs both hips and squeezes harder, moving Cas’ hips back and forth and increasing his speed. “Fuck, Cas,” he groans, as the French strikes him straight in the balls like lightning, “Cum for me baby.” Dean is so close, he releases one hip and grabs Cas’ dripping cock, stroking up and down the slick shaft; he prays Cas finishes first. Cas starts chanting Dean’s name like a prayer, bouncing his ass on Dean, the head of Dean’s glorious eight-inch cock ramming into his prostate with every downward thrust. “Oui – il y a droit – Dean – me baiser – Dean – plus difficile…” Cas stutters as his prostate is slammed into harder and harder, his head dropping to rest in the crook of Dean’s shoulder.

Dean feels his balls tighten and his quickens his speed on Castiel’s cock, muttering his name like a prayer on his own lips “Cas, baby – I love you – cum for me sweetheart,” he mutters, mouth next to Cas’ ear, urging his lover to completion.

“De-Dean – je t’aime!” He yells, body stiffening up as his cum spurts in waves out of his cock, landing on both men’s chests. Dean, feeling Cas pulse tighter around his cock, strokes him through the last of his orgasm, thrusts again, and cums inside of Cas’ silky canal.

“C-Cas!” he groans, vision whitening out as he holds on to Cas, feeling as though he will fall if he lets go. Spent, Cas collapses on Dean’s chest, Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ back and rubs up and down.

After a few minutes, he slides his ass off Dean’s softening cock and rolls to his side, cuddling up to Dean, arm across his chest. “Good night baby.”

“Goodnight, my Angel.” Dean whispers, placing a gentle kiss to Cas' temple and falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sorry this took so long. And the chapter was shorter :/  
> Between First Year Finals (I'm am adult learner at college), a new job, and trying my damndest to get the smut just right (and I'm not even completely sure of it...) I've been kind of distracted.  
> This is still un-beta'd. So any suggestions/criticisms/praises are welcome.
> 
> Writing is hard. :(
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> *Fuck, Dean, right there  
> *Oh my God don’t stop.  
> *Yes – right there – Dean – fuck me – Dean – harder…  
> *Dean – I love you!


	7. The Lights Flash Red and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! I did not abandon this fic, but between College, Kids, Work, writer's block, and writing 4 chapters at the same time, I got delayed and you all have my deepest apologies and kisses to you!  
> I have finally managed to create a version of Chapter 7 that I am happy with, and I hope you all enjoy it too!  
> As for the multi-chapter-writing, it is difficult to decide which chapter to put all my thoughts. Next time I do a multi-chap fic, I will stick to a time-line plot, and not time-stamp jumping :/

August 6, 1995

  
Police cars were swarmed up and down the street, officers in the living room talking to John. Upstairs, two officers were searching Dean’s room, looking for any clues that he had run away. Sam was in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, completely stunned, tears in his eyes. There’s no WAY he ran away! He screamed to himself.  
Suddenly, he heard those exact words bellowed from his father. Sam ran into the living room to hug his dad.

  
*********

  
Across town, four police cars were at the Harvelle residence.  
“Ma’am,” Officer Downey said to Ellen, “we’re sorry, but we need the full cooperation of yourself and your daughter if we are able to find Mr. Winchester-“  
“Dean. Come on, Robert. This is a small town, you know the boy too.”  
“Officer Downey, please. Dean has gone missing, Mrs. Singer. I need to keep this professional.”  
“Right. Well, since this is my daughter’s friend, and the son of one of MY closest friends, you will NOT be interrogating my daughter. You will treat Jo the same as you always do. She is upset over this enough. She is NO criminal, she had NO alcohol in my house, and she had MY permission to have the party. Are we CLEAR, OFFICER DOWNEY?”  
“Yes, Ma’am-“  
“Ellen.”  
“Ellen, then. No, Ellen. We would never question a minor without a parent present. I promise I won’t treat her any differently than I do when I see her on the street.”  
“JOANNA BETH HARVELLE! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW!”

  
*********

  
“Sam! Sam what happened?” Gabriel called, rushing into the living room from the front door.  
“Dean-“ he cries, grabbing Gabriel, hugging him tight, “Dean’s GONE!”

  
*********

  
“Okay, Jo,” Officer Downey starts gently, putting a comforting hand on her arm as she continues to cry, “we’re not here to scare you. A friend of yours, who was known to have been here Friday night, didn’t arrive home. Now, you’re not in trouble. We just want to know who was here Friday night. Everyone.”

  
*********

  
August 7, 1995

  
The police interrogated everyone who attended the party. Everyone agrees that Dean acted normally; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Lisa Braeden, too embarrassed, didn’t tell Officers Downey and West that he didn’t kiss her. He left early, curfew being at midnight. It’s mid-evening before the investigating officers make it to Alistair’s house. He is honest about putting Dean in a cab and hearing him confirm his home address.  
Which cab company? Does he know the number on the car? What time did he leave? Did anyone go with him? Did his behavior or his speech sound unusual to you? Do you have someone who can confirm your version of events?  
Alistair sticks to the truth, omitting the Amnesiac powder. He gives all information he has; Yellow Checker Cabs. No I wasn’t paying attention. 11:45. No, he was alone. No, he seemed normal. Yes, Sarah was with me while we waited for the cab.  
Describe the driver to us, please.  
Caucasian, blonde hair, black (eyes) hat, I dunno what else.  
They ask him one more question, this one causing him to hesitate.  
“Was there anything unusual about the driver that you noticed?” asks Officer West.  
Anything unusual? HELL YES! “Um, no….”  
“Mr. Smith, anything, no matter how small, would be a big help in finding your friend. Please remember, other than this taxi driver, you and Miss Blake are the last people to see your friend alive.”  
“uh…” he stutters.  
“Mr. Smith, you failed to mention eye colour. Did you see his eyes?” Officer Downey interrupts.  
Ohmygodnopleasedon’taskmeabouttheeyes!  
“Uh,” he starts again, going for a half-truth, “I couldn’t really tell. Dark, I think. It was almost midnight; his eyes almost looked black when he turned a certain way…” Alistair is proud of that one, giving out the information without giving anything away. Maybe he won’t get into too much trouble with his boss. She can be vicious when crossed.  
“Blonde hair, dark eyes. Okay, Mr. Smith, I think that’s all we need from you for now. Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else that can help, and I mean anything, please call me.” Officer West says, handing Alistair a business card with his phone numbers on it.  
“Do you… do you think he’s okay? You’ll find Dean, right? He’s my friend, the first person to talk to me since I moved here.” The guilt is starting again, but Alistair swallows it down, knowing that telling the whole truth will make his life so much WORSE.  
“Don’t worry Mr. Smith. We will do everything in our power to find Dean.” Officer West pats him on the shoulder, and the police leave. Alistair closes the door, goes to his room, and sighs. Well, if they do manage to find Dean, at least the amnesia powder will prevent him from remembering that I poured those drinks down his throat.

  
*********

  
September 4, 1995

  
The police station in Lawrence, Kansas, is run on a skeleton crew at night. The station, being in a small town, is bare and behind the times of proper security. The front desk is manned by one officer, a rookie, deep asleep at his post. John Winchester, being a man with little patience, decides that something needs to be done. His precious son is missing and his mind has snapped at his loss. Feeling that the police aren’t sharing enough information with him, he quietly makes his way into the station. The first thing the former Marine checks is for cameras in the building. None are seen, and he decides the first thing he needs to do is locate his son’s file, whether it be on a desk or in the file room. I don’t have a lot of time for this. How am I going to find it? He spots an open office, empty, with a computer in it. Taking the chance, he goes into the office and quietly shuts the door, leaving the light off. There is enough light entering the room around the spaces of the door frame from the hallway to light his way to the desk. He sits, and blindly feels around the computer for the power button. Noting that the computer doesn’t ask him for a password, he makes another mental note about the lack of security in the goddamn police station. Bastards. Can’t even afford a new computer so they can put on a user lock? If I can get in, who else can access files? John quickly types ‘Winchester, Dean’ into the computer’s search bar. Finding one hit, he opens the file. His eyes do a quick scan of the file, and he realizes that he needs to print. The police are still using the dot matrix printers, and he realizes that it’s too loud to print anything here. He stands, cracks open the door, and checks for any other personnel in the hallway. I need to get into another office with a better printer. Maybe the Sheriff Office? He quickly slides himself out of the office, forgoing turning off the computer in case he does in fact need to return, and does a silent half-jog down the hallway, checking every open door before he passes on his way. He manages to sneak past four occupied offices without being noticed, and finds the Sheriff office open and the computer in sleep. He runs in, clicks the door shut, and hits a button on the keyboard to pull the computer out of sleep. He sees Dean’s file number on the desktop, and uses the mouse to click on it. It is much more detailed than the version in the other office. It seems as though the Sheriff was updating his information and was abruptly called away. He turns, finding a newer printer, and hits print on the file. Within 2 minutes, the entirety of the file is printed and in his hands. Suddenly, he hears voices coming right for him, and John checks the room for a hiding place. Stupid stupid stupid, John! Run into an office without checking for exits? You know better! Just then, he spots a window behind him. The door is still shut, and the voices have paused outside the room. He opens the window, mentally cursing when it only opens 8 inches. He squeezes through the window drops down into the bushes, and waits. The voices have entered the room, and he quietly and quickly makes his way around the building, keeping his head down and his back on the building. Once clear, he makes his way back to this truck parked three blocks away, inhaling deeply when he gets in and locks the door behind him. He drives home, keeping quiet so as not to wake Sam, and spends his night with a bottle of whiskey and the file on his bed, lamp on his bedside table turned low.

  
*********

  
September 5, 1995

  
The first day of eighth grade for Sam began sullenly. Dean, his big brother, his hero, would have started his senior year of high school that day. Sam’s father has spent the entire month switching between searching for his missing son during the day, drunk off his ass at night. Sam hasn’t slept well since that night a month ago, spending his days being dragged all over town with his father, hassling the police, the neighbours, and Dean’s friends; and his nights rolling him over so he doesn’t puke in his sleep.  
Where did you go, Dean? He thinks to himself. What happened? Dad’s turned into someone I don’t know, someone bent on revenge.  
John alienated himself from Bobby and Ellen and Jo, the police have given up trying to be polite to him.  
Sam gets himself ready for school, coming down the stairs to see his father waking up from the couch, again surrounded by liquor bottles. “Hey boy. You want breakfast?” John asks.  
“Sure dad,” Sam replies quietly, “just toast.”  
“How about some eggs too?” John replies as he walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, his voice is rough and scratchy from whiskey and sleep.  
“Yeah. Hey, dad?” Sam hesitates, and sits at the table. John looks up from the cupboard where he grabbed a pan and places it on the stove. “Uh, what are your plans today? While I’m at school, I mean.”  
“I’m going out for a while. See if I can’t find out where your brother went,” John replies, taking the butter and eggs out of the fridge. He won’t tell his son about the police files he stashed in his room and read overnight.  
“Dad… do you think you’ll find something today?”  
“Yes. I know exactly where I’m going to start. By the way, son, if I’m not at the school to pick you up, can you go to the Novak’s with Castiel, please? I promise to pick you up from there for dinner.”  
“Sure, dad,” Sam says, lowering his eyes to the table, waiting quietly for his meal to arrive. Nothing else is said.

  
*********

  
Sam walks into his homeroom to find Castiel sitting by himself in a chair. The boy with the medium-dark brown hair looks up at Sam and waves him over.  
“Hey Sam, how are you today,” he asks, concern written plainly on his plump boyish face, blue eyes sad.  
“I’m okay. No, no that’s not right. Things have been tough.”  
Castiel nods his head, a frown on his face. Castiel is having a hard time of his own with Dean’s disappearance. The boy with the bright green eyes, freckles, dirty blond hair and constant smile is a beacon in Castiel’s life; he is the sun that shines on everything and everyone around him. Castiel has never told anyone about his crush on his best friend’s older brother, hiding it with talk of girls and knowing that his affections for the boy will never be returned. The crush on the older Winchester was hardly Dean’s fault. Castiel sometimes felt that his crush was purely based on the fact that the boy paid attention to him, encouraged him to come out of his shell. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he was born beautiful. But Cas knew that he could never say anything to anyone about his feelings. His disappearance destroyed Castiel in a way that made him feel like a shell of his former self, knowing he couldn’t talk about his feelings to anyone; grieve with Sam on a better level with greater understanding.  
“-if that’s okay with you? Maybe you could ask Gabe?” Sam mutters.  
Castiel, realizing he became lost in his own thoughts about Dean again, quickly blinked his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam, could you repeat that for me please?”  
“Sure man. You looked kinda spaced out for a minute there. You okay?”  
“Oh. Yes I am fine. Just thinking about things. Been a tough summer. I haven’t seen Gabe with many of his friends this summer. Not since…”  
Sam looks at Castiel, and sees worry and pain in his features. “I know, man. It’s been hard on all of us,” he says, clapping his hand on the blue-eyed boy’s shoulder.  
“Not as hard as it is on you and your dad. If there’s anything I can do-“  
“I know, man. It’s okay, you’ve told us.”  
“Okay,” he says, “Now, what were you saying?”  
“Oh, yes. My dad wants to know if I can go to your house with you and Gabe after school if he’s not here to pick me up. He’s out looking again. He said he’ll get me from your house in time for dinner, if that’s okay with you and Gabe.”  
“Sure Sam. No problem. I’ll check it with Gabe at lunch.”

  
*********

  
After school, Gabriel and Castiel stand with Sam while he checks the parking lot for his dad’s truck. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Gabriel pipes up, “C’mon Sammy-boy. Let’s head over to my place. You and Cas can work on your homework.”  
The two boys and one teenager walk, and fifteen minutes later they are walking in the front door of the Novak house, in better spirits than the journey began. Sam and Cas decide to talk about girls; Sam, because he feels the need to distract himself from the constant pain of his brother’s absence; and Cas, because he feels the need to cover his true feelings from both his brother and his friend. When they are situated at the kitchen table, Gabriel joins them with snacks in hand. They do their homework and watch the clock.  
By five o’clock Michael has come home from work and started dinner, Luke joined the boys at the table, his homework from his day’s courses at the college in front of him, Balthazar has called from a friend’s house claiming he’s staying out for dinner, and Anna has sequestered herself in her room with her Walkman, singing loudly.  
Six o’clock arrives, dinner is ready, and there is no sign of John.  
“Samuel. Would you like to stay for dinner?” asks Michael.  
“If it’s okay. I’ll go as soon as my dad gets here.”  
“If it wasn’t okay, Samuel, I would not have offered. Don’t worry, I’m sure your father will be here soon.” Michael replies.  
“Yeah. Thanks, dinner sounds good. Thank you.” Sam says, awkwardly. He felt bad, knowing he had ingratiated himself into the Novak home for the day, taking their food from their mouths.  
“Come sit here between me and Cas, Sammy.” Says Gabe.  
“Thanks, man.”

  
*********

  
Ten-thirty p.m. John hasn’t called. He hasn’t shown up. Sam begins to get very worried. As he is trying to convince the Novaks that he should return home and await his father’s return, Gabriel addresses the elephant in the room so gently that no one argues with him. “Sam. No one is going anywhere alone. Your brother is gone after being alone for five minutes. We are not splitting up. Your father wants you here with us. It’s safer. Cas can get you some spare clothes to sleep in. You can go to school with us in the morning. You are staying here. Now, it’s late. You and Cas need to get ready for bed. No arguing, boy, I won’t hear it.”  
In the stunned silence that follows, Cas puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder and whispers, “It’s okay. We want you here. Gabe’s right, safety in numbers. C’mon.” and carefully leads him out of the room.  
The rest of the Novak siblings are still seated in the living room, and Michael quietly (but not so quietly Sam misses what he says) addresses his siblings, “The Winchesters have been through hell. Some of us kids have been close to them for years. We will help Sam through this, and pick up any slack John leaves. I know they would do the same for us.” Luke, Balthazar, Gabe, and Anna, all nod their heads in agreement.

September 5, 1995, is the day Sam will always remember as his first day of Grade Eight, and the first time his father ever forgets about him. It wasn’t the last time.


	8. We Used to Play Outside When We Were Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening all my lovely readers! I just wanted to say a Great Big THANK YOU ALL for reading, commenting, kudos'ing, and the encouragement! This chapter took me a little bit, but I managed to finish it, and I hope it flows nicely! (The pieces were all there, but they felt choppy o.O)  
> Please feel free to comment your thoughts! ( I discovered inbox messages make me smile!)

November 7, 1997

Castiel, now 14, sat in the library, as usual. He was going through all the mythology books searching for anything that would explain black eyes. After spending the last two years searching, he knew he would come up with nothing, yet again, but he couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ give up on Dean.

Dean Winchester was a friend of his brother’s, and the brother to Sam. Not only that, Castiel felt Dean was the love of his life. Of course, no one but himself knew. Coming out as gay might have been okay, if he could be certain his brothers and sister wouldn’t have thrown his ass out the door at the first sign. But without that guarantee, he couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t have had anywhere to go at such a young age. The Novak siblings had no parents left, and Castiel had never known his grandparents. His parents were both only children, knowing they wanted a large family so their kids would never feel the loneliness of growing up alone. No, Castiel’s plans on telling his family about his sexuality would have to wait until he knew he could take care of himself, should his family decide to cut him out of their lives. Loving Dean, however, would have only made things worse. No, he could never tell anyone his feelings for the elder Winchester brother. Sam would have hated him, stopped being his friend. His brothers and sister would have teased him mercilessly, if they didn’t throw him out on his ass first. Dean would have rejected him, turned him away, and ended the friendship they had. No. The very thought of losing Dean’s friendship was so heartbreaking to the younger teen that he decided long ago he would never say a word; having Dean Winchester as a friend (and only a friend) was better than having no Dean at all. Needless to say, the last two years have been pure hell on Castiel. Not only has he missed Dean, Sam has become a different person altogether, bouncing between trying to act normal, and anger at his father for his own inconsistent parenting. Only Castiel and his family see the way Sam has been trying to cope. Sam has tried to push almost every other friend he had away. Nobody has allowed him to succeed, and no one is holding it against him. No one who was or is close to the Winchester family wants to imagine that loss and the consequences of it. They all have been dealing with Dean’s disappearance in their own way, and have made Sam aware that they are a support system for him. The Novak family, however, is the only group of people Sam is willing to turn to for help. Just another reason to never tell Sam about his own feelings for the elder Winchester brother. Sam was his best friend, even if Sam didn’t feel that way about the shy boy with few friends, he wasn’t willing to risk his friendship over a crush. A crush on a boy no one has seen in two years, and may never see again.

Castiel has also spent the last two years watching the guilt over Dean’s disappearance eat away at Gabriel. He knew his brother felt he should have made sure he arrived home safely that night. Gabriel changed after that night, not letting anyone go anywhere alone. Gabriel felt that due to his failure of protecting his friend, he was now the guardian angel to everyone he cares about. It had taken a lot of convincing on Castiel’s part for Gabriel to let him be at the library without supervision, accepting the terms of a drop off and pick up from his brother in exchange for his privacy. Castiel has only been enjoying his freedom for the last two months.

*********

It was very rare nowadays that Castiel was able to take some time to himself to think about Dean Winchester and their friendship. Maybe one day it will stop hurting so much to think of him. That day, however, is not today.

_**-Cas’ memories of meeting Dean for the first time, four years earlier** _

October 9, 1993

For a shy child with no friends, meeting Gabriel’s friend for the first time felt as though he’d never taken a breath a day in his life. Castiel at 10 years of age was a small, shy child with glasses, and was constantly (although completely _lovingly_ ) teased by his brothers Gabriel, Michael, Luke, Balthy, and his sister Anna. As a result he learned early on how to keep himself out of the way of his (some of them being much) older siblings (Gabriel, being the second youngest of the bunch, was four years his elder). Castiel loved books too much, his own company too much, and didn’t have friends for fear of being teased about his goofy glasses and slight lisp; although to be fair, his lisp only appeared when he was over-excited.

It was on this fateful day that Gabriel decided to take little Cassie to the park, where he made plans with his classmate Dean Winchester, who was bringing his own little brother, Sam.

*********

“Yo, Deano!” yells Gabriel, walking across the field leading to the park, Castiel next to him.

“Yo, Gabe man! Hurry up!” Dean replies. Once the boys get closer, Dean makes introductions. “Sammy, this is Gabriel, he’s in my class. Gabe, this is my little bro Sammy.”

“Nice to meet you,” says the gangly 10-year old. Sam is a thin boy with light brown hair, cut Beatles’-style, with his bangs reaching the tops of his eyebrows. He has hazel eyes and a kind face. He puts his hand out to shake with Gabriel.

“Nice to meet you too, Sammy. This is my little brother, Castiel.” He turns to his right, where he could have sworn Castiel was just standing. Finding Cas behind his back, he reaches around and brings him to his front. “As I was saying, this shy guy is Castiel. He’s my little brother. He’s 10 too. Cassie, this is Sam Winchester and his big brother, Dean.”

Castiel smiles shyly at the boy, and shakes his hand. “V-v-v-very nithe to meet you, Tham.” He blushes and turns away.

“Cassie, it’s okay.” Turning to the Winchester boys, Gabriel tells them “Castiel has a slight lisp, but it only shows itself when he’s excited. Cassie,” he turns back to his brother, “it’s okay, bro. Just take a breath, and try again,” he says, smiling.

Castiel steals a quick glance at Gabriel to check everything is fine, and he smiles. He takes a deep breath, looks back to Sam, and says, “Th-th-s-sorry. Hello, Sam.”

Sam smiles at Castiel, and says, “Cool, Castiel. This is Dean,” pointing to his brother.

Castiel looked up to the taller Winchester and felt his heart stop. His smile froze on his face as his mind raced a million miles a minute. Dean Winchester had dirty blonde hair, cut just slightly longer than military-buzz, and spiked on top. His eyes were a bright forest-kiwi green, mixed with flecks of gold, and sparkling in the sunlight. He is smiling wide, showing perfect teeth and plush lips. His lightly tanned face is dotted with freckles, spattered across his nose and cheekbones like stars in the galaxy.

“Hello, Cas. Nice to meet you, buddy,” Dean smiled. “How about you and Sammy here run over to the swings, and me and Gabe can push you? Would you like that?”

Castiel felt his face blush again and his chest inhaled a breath he didn’t realize hadn’t been taken. “Yeth, Dean, okay,” he squeaked.

“Cassie, remember, deep breaths. It’s okay, bro,” Gabriel whispered. Sam grabbed Castiel’s hand and started running to the swings, both older boys following behind at a walk.

*********

November 7, 1997

Castiel was so lost in his memories of that beautiful first day, remembering Dean’s bright green eyes, he got halfway home before he realized he was walking, and forgot to call his brother for a ride.

“YO! Hey, NOVAK!” Castiel hears the call, and spots Alistair Smith across the street. Alistair jogs over to him and asks, “Dude! I’ve called you like, eight times! Where’s your head?” he says, laughing.

“Oh, my apologies Alistair. I was just lost in thought.”

“Yeah, no kidding! Where you going?” Alistair asks, the two still walking.

“Home. It’s late and I forgot to ask my brother for a ride. He’s going to be upset when I get home,” Castiel replies.

“Hey, let me walk you home. That way your brother will know you weren’t alone. Okay?” Alistair slows his pace, landing a half-step behind the dark-haired boy.

“That sounds acceptable. Come on, if we cut through the field on the next block, we’ll arrive sooner.”

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that.” Alistair replies, looking around.

The boys walk in silence another few minutes, Castiel lost in thought yet again while Alistair covertly darts his eyes around them, keeping lookout.A black 1997 Dodge Ram van slowly pulls up and keeps pace with the two boys. The window rolls down and reveals the passenger: female, flaming red hair, bright green eyes and bright red lipstick.

“Excuse me? Hey, kid, excuse me? I think we’re lost, can you give us directions to highway 70 please?” She says, smiling sweetly.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to get there from here,” he replies, slowly moving himself and Alistair further from the vehicle next to him. He can’t see the driver of the van clearly, making out a dark jacket and hat. The driver doesn’t look at the two boys at all.

“Oh, I’m sure you know, darling. Why, I bet you’re the _smartest_ kid in your class, huh?”

Blushing, Castiel continues to back up, left hand on Alistair’s right arm. Alistair, however, isn’t moving but he has placed his left hand on Castiel’s hand, seemingly in reassurance. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t know how to get to the highway from here.”

“And would you know where the best place to reach the highway would be?” She responds, lips in a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Um-“ “Yes ma’am,” Alistair interrupts, “If you get onto the 10 and follow it to the 59, then follow that, you can reach the 70.” He says, slowly coming closer to the van, hand still holding onto Castiel.

Cas can feel his body being subtly pulled closer to the attractive redhead, but his feet refuse to move, as though he is a rooted plant, being gently pulled out of the ground by a child. “And how would I get to the 10?” she asks, voice still sweet. Castiel becomes nervous when he notices her eyes have changed; a subtle shift from secretive to scary.

Still moving closer, as his feet have finally responded to the pull, Cas realizes that they are less than two feet away from the van now. He feels slightly panicky, wary of the stranger and confused by Alistair’s actions.

“Well, follow this road –“ Alistair begins, but she quickly interrupts.

“How about you climb in, and give us directions? We can drop you off when we reach the 10…?” she says, peeking around Alistair over the Castiel.

“AL!” Cas whispers loudly, grabbing on to his arm with both hands “we can’t get into her vehicle, man, it’s dangerous. We don’t know who she is! Or the guy driving!”

“C’mon man, it’s just a few blocks away. And we’ll be together the whole time. Nothing will happen,” Alistair replies, pulling Castiel closer as he speaks, “it’ll be okay. We’re together.” Alistair opens the back door and climbs in, still holding on to Castiel, who now stands less than a foot away from the open door. “C’mon, man, don’t leave me alone with strangers. Gabe wouldn’t like it if anything did happen…”

A flash of hurt and guilt overtakes Castiel’s features, but before he can protest, his arm is pulled roughly into the door by a hand previously unseen from the back of the van, his whole body easily tossed inside from surprise, and a cloth covers his mouth. Struggling does not last long, as Alistair is helping the stranger hold him down. Within seconds, Castiel’s world goes black; the noises of wheels squealing and the van door slamming shut are the last sounds that make it past the descending fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how did you like it? Thoughts?  
> I am working on the next chapter, although at this moment I have no idea when it will be finished. I'm giving myself a deadline of two weeks; I am still a college student, mother, and full-time employee, after all n_n
> 
>  
> 
> *Chapter Title taken from "Little Talks" by Of Monsters And Men. (I love that song and if you haven't heard it, give it a listen)


	9. Is There Anybody Out There?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. You will see why....
> 
> Chapter title inspired by the Pink Floyd song of the same name.  
> If you haven't heard the awesomeness that is Pink Floyd (and really, no matter your age, you should have!) give them a listen. 
> 
> Epic.

August 8, 1995

 

_Black._

_Empty space._

_No movement, including his own. Nothing in sight. No sound, save for his own screams into the void._

_‘Sammy! Dad! Where am I? Someone please help me!’_

_No answer._

_No movement._

_No sight._

_No sound._

_Nothing._

 

_Floating._

 

 

 

 

_Time has no meaning here, wherever ‘here’ is._

_He tries to count; seconds, minutes; and realizes he can’t keep track. Is he counting too fast? Too slow? Has it been seconds that feel like_ days _? Or the reverse? Has it been_ YEARS _here, but only weeks at home? Where is home? Where is_ here _?_

_He gives up after an unknowable amount of time, knowing his own thoughts have distracted him from his count. He feels as though it doesn’t matter,_ never mattered _, because who knew how much time went by before he began his count?_

_And where in the_ HELL _is he, anyways?_

_He begins to yell again. ‘DAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!’_

_‘SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM’_

_Empty…_

 

 

_Floating._

_He begins to pray. ‘Anyone? Where am I? Is there anybody out there? Where is everyone? Why can’t I feel my body? Help?’_

_From the corner of his eye, yellow. Focusing his sight to the left, the light starts to return as gradual as the sunrise._

_‘Hello? Is someone there?’_

_A tingling sensation in his hands, very lightly at first, light enough to almost tickle. The light makes him feel warm… the warmth spreading through his body, causing him to realize that until the warmth, he couldn’t feel his body. The feeling begins to turn painful, spreading very quickly throughout his newly awakened body. His head begins to_ POUND _, and a sharp pain hits him in his face –_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, my lovelies.....  
> Next Chapter will be up IMMEDIATELY!!!


	10. Comfortable Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, chapter up IMMEDIATELY...
> 
> Sorry about the long wait. Nobody ever says, "Hey! Writer's block can kick you in the ass for FOREVER!!!!"  
> Torture is hard. So...

\- **SLAP**

He feels a hard smack of flesh connect with his right cheek.

Dean becomes conscious slowly, head pounding and body sluggish. Before his eyes are even open, he realizes his body feels heavy, as though he is being weighed down. He can’t seem to move his arms, or his legs. He can feel _something_ keeping his limbs from movement, but he can’t seem to make his body react the way he wants. He _wants_ his arms to move, he _wants_ his hands to clench, his fingers to wiggle.

A voice, distorted and far away.

“Get UP Dean! How can She claim **you** -” the words becoming clearer as the person speaks – “as her greatest achievement if you can’t even handle a bit of _fun?_ ” but they still make no sense. “GET.” Another slap across the face - “UP.”

Dean is suddenly very wet and _very cold_ , when a bucket of ice water is thrown on him from a different direction than the person who slapped him. His eyes shoot open and the bright light blinds him, albeit temporarily. He coughs and sputters the water out of his mouth, and tries to wipe the water off his face.

He’s tied to a chair. Naked.

Well, mostly. When he looks to his left and right to find his arms tied behind his back, he realizes he’s sitting on a cold metal chair in the middle of a bare room, wearing only his blue boxer briefs. Dean is very confused. And very scared. He hears a large heavy metal door clang shut.

“Ah, he awakens. Finally.” Dean whips his head towards the direction the new and _very feminine_ voice has come from, instantly regretting the quick movement as he flinches from the searing pain in his skull. “Oh, Deanie, my poor baby,” the voice coos, “careful now, honey. Don’t want to hurt you any more than necessary.”

Confused, Dean squints up to the person the new voice belongs to, who has placed her hand on his head, rubbing gentle circles. Vision still fuzzy, he tries to take in every detail possible, to _remember,_ as his father taught him, so when he is rescued or escapes he can describe her to the police.

He notes her beautiful, seemingly-natural red hair, tied up in a 50’s style bun, and her blood-red lipstick, matching her hair almost perfectly, making it seem as though the shade of lipstick was designed for her specifically. She has green eyes, and her voice is gentle when she speaks to him, with an undertone of _evil bitch_ that he suspects is her normal tone. She gives off vibes of _“I-am-the-Boss-and-I’m-not-taking-shit-from-anyone.”_ Her hand continues to rub from his head down to his cheek, keeping with the _“I’m-gentle-and-will-treat-you-right-as-long-as-you-just-listen-and-do-as-I-say”_ vibe she’s _trying_ to give him.

Not that he believes it.

“Dean. My special boy. Don’t worry about a thing. We’re going to make sure you have everything you need.”

_Yeah, right_ , he thinks.

“Where am I?” he rasps, voice low and scratchy.

She gets closer to him, her face mere inches from his, one hand in his hair, pulling hard enough to become painful, the other slid to cup is jaw, squeezing. “Well, darling, you are in my lab. And you, my dear, are going to make one HELL of an employee!”

As she cackles, he hears two more people in the room laughing. One, the person whose voice he heard upon waking. The other, _must be waterboy_ , he doesn’t know. She lets go of his face and hair just in time for her to repeatedly tap his face with her palm, not as gently as she handled him before. “Yes, Dean. You will be my crowning achievement.”

She side-eyes one of the two goons on his right. His body moves sluggishly, and he catches Waterboy in his black eyes as he says “Naptime, boy” and a needle pricks him in the arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, Torture is hard. So....  
> Had to put it off.   
> Introducing ABADDON, everybody! I tried to stay true to her nature. Let me know I got it completely wrong....
> 
>  
> 
> Then again, This isn't our typical Dean and Cas, either?
> 
> A/N: Sorry it's such a short chapter. I realized there was no further I could go with this specific scene atm, and I had to move back to the other POVs.  
> Working on Chapter 11 RIGHT..... NOW!


End file.
